Proxy
by ms-ambrosia
Summary: The past five years had not been kind to Edward, a jaded widower who put his life on hold. When an enigmatic woman captures his attention, his equivocal lifestyle starts to change. AH. ExB.
1. One

**Thanks to shoefreak37 and Alby Mangroves for their beta work, for pointing out my ridiculous errors, and giving me the confidence to post. Thanks to m81170 for the banner (link in my profile) and for helping me write my summary. **

**SM owns Twilight.**

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit," Edward cursed, dropping his razor into the sink. His jaw stung as bright red blood poured from the tiny nick. Running his hands through his hair, still wet from the shower, he exhaled a frustrated sigh. He pulled some toilet paper from the roll, wadding it into a ball to prevent it from sticking to his damp hands. Putting pressure against the wound lessened the pain, but the blood continued to flow, staining the white paper bright red.

Annoyed with himself for such a careless mistake, Edward moved from the bathroom to his closet. He felt petulant and surly as he stared at the clothes hanging there. What was he supposed to wear on a first date, a _blind_ first date at that? He hadn't been on a first date in almost fifteen years. Edward momentarily considered a suit, but he didn't want to appear like a stuffy old man. Instead, he pulled a pair of slacks and an Oxford from the hangers, throwing them onto the bed.

His face had finally stopped bleeding so he headed back into the bathroom to finish shaving. Looking at the bags under his eyes and the tiny lines around them, Edward felt old, much older than his thirty-five years. The past five years had not been kind to him, leaving him tired and weary. He finished up his shave and ran a towel through his damp hair, no longer caring enough to make sure it wasn't sticking up in every direction.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he put on the clothes he'd pulled out, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. Foregoing a tie, he kept the top two buttons open and decided not to tuck his shirt in; he wanted to be comfortable. Standing in front of his chest of drawers, he picked up his watch and put it on, ignoring the urge to look at the engraving on the back side of the face. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering in the air as he moved to pick up his wedding band.

Picking up the white gold band, he held in between his thumb and forefinger, a symbol of the promises he'd made to the woman he loved, vows that no longer held the same meaning. _'Til death do us part._ The words sounded over and over in his head, making him question whether he was really ready for the step he was taking. He crushed the ring against his palm, his decision made.

Walking back into the closet, he pulled the dusty wooden box from the top shelf, feeling his heart clench as he removed the lid. The smell of cedar assaulted his senses, but he could smell the vanilla lingering underneath—the smell of Angela. He took out the photo on top, a random snapshot taken in his parent's backyard. Autumn was upon them, the leaves a mixture of vibrant yellow and orange, as they stood beneath that old maple tree. He had his hands around her waist, looking into her eyes, while she had her hands pressed against his chest. The photo had caught her with her mouth open, laughing at something he had said, while he was grinning down at her.

The sparkle in her eyes was visible enough beneath those ridiculous plastic-rimmed glasses she insisted on wearing. Her eyesight wasn't even that bad, but she wore the frames anyway, swearing that they made her look more intelligent. Angela was always concerned about people not taking her seriously enough, underestimating her. None of that stuff had ever mattered to Edward.

They'd met in college, coming from opposite ends of the spectrum. Both were straight-laced, Dean's list students, but where Edward spent his time in the sciences, always hunched over a microscope, Angela excelled in the arts. She painted from time to time to relieve stress and played the clarinet, but photography was her true passion and she excelled at it.

Their courtship had been a whirlwind, insane to those around them that wondered how two seemingly serious people could have fallen in love so quickly. They'd gotten married after less than six months together, with another year of college still left for both of them. That year was a struggle. They lived in a cramped studio apartment, worked crappy jobs, and still struggled to pay the bills. Neither of them cared; they were happy and in love.

Edward gently placed the photo back in the box, resisting the urge to sit down on the floor and go through them all. He didn't have time to reminisce now, but maybe later. Pulling out the dark velvet box, he popped open the lid and stared at the engagement ring inside. The diamond was tiny and muddy, but was the product of sweat and hard work. He had worked at a tiny pizza parlor during the summer to afford it, slinging dough and doing deliveries. The faint scars from oven burns were still visible on his hands. Later in life, when they were more established in their careers, he had wanted to replace it, but Angela had a sentimental streak, adamant that she keep it. He put his own wedding ring inside and shut the box, hoping to close away a part of his life that was over.

The buzz of his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand pulled him from his memories. He quickly threw everything back into the cedar box and shut the lid, stowing it back in its place on the top shelf of the closet. Walking quickly to retrieve his phone, he rolled his eyes as he saw his sister's face on the display.

"Hello, Rosalie," he answered, his voice full of annoyance.

"Hello, Edward. Sorry to bother you, but I was just calling to make sure that everything was still on? We'll be by in fifteen to pick up you."

He rolled his eyes as she spoke, knowing that she wasn't sorry for bothering him at all. Edward couldn't blame her for wanting to make sure that he was okay; he'd been known to fall apart from time to time for no reason at all. He'd made his decision, though, when he'd agreed to go out, and he wouldn't embarrass Rosalie by standing up her friend at the last minute. He wasn't even sure if _friend_ was the right word, knowing that Rosalie had only described the woman, Jessica, as a co-worker.

"I'll be ready, Rose."

"You know it's okay if you've changed your mind. No one would be upset with you," she replied, obviously hearing the sadness in his voice.

"I'm fine. See you in a few."

Edward hung up the phone without waiting for her goodbye, not wanting to give her the chance to inquire further. He didn't want her to say this was what Angela would have wanted, to make him feel obligated to apologize for his depression. His short walk down memory lane had already left him feeling melancholy and he needed to put those feelings away if he was going to get through the evening. He wasn't completely sure if he was ready, but it had been three years. It was time to move on.

/|P|\\

Glasses clinked and forks clattered against the dull hum of the dinnertime conversation. Edward tried to remain attentive, to respond when appropriate, but his heart just wasn't in the moment. It was still at home, locked away in that old cedar box with the memories of his wife.

He chewed his entrée slowly and drank his glass of wine. Edward couldn't recall what he had ordered and everything tasted like chalk in his mouth, drying out his tongue and throat. No matter how much he drank, he couldn't seem to quench his thirst. Rosalie kept looking at him with sad eyes and strained smiles. He knew she felt guilty for dragging him out this way, but this was a step in the right direction. He needed to take control of his life again, to stop wallowing in misery and despair.

Jessica was a pretty woman, with naturally curly hair and straight white teeth, but it wasn't enough to hold Edward's attention. She prattled on about her children, her job, and her ex-husband—virtually anything that came to mind. It was obvious she lacked a verbal filter, a quirk that some men might have found endearing; it simply got on Edward's nerves.

Feeling a headache coming on, Edward rubbed his temples and flagged down a passing waiter, ordering bourbon on the rocks. Even if everything about this evening had turned to complete shit, at least he could enjoy a good glass of Maker's Mark. When the waiter sat it on the table, he quickly ordered another, draining the first in one long gulp. Rosalie narrowed her eyes at him—a warning—but he ignored her, turning his attention to her husband Emmett, asking about the Mariners, even though baseball really held no interest for him.

When their entrees were finished, no one ordered dessert, and for that Edward was thankful, happy to cut the evening short. Rosalie, however, had other plans, rattling on about the gallery opening they were headed to next. Edward didn't recall agreeing more than food, but he was feeling too sullen to argue, wagering the date couldn't get any worse.

As they loaded into the car, Edward turned to look out the window, effectively ignoring the giggling, half-drunk brunette that was attempting to start a conversation. She continued to talk, but he tuned her out, nodding his head occasionally, not hearing a word she said. It wasn't until he felt her hand on his thigh that he turned to look at her, his face contorted into a menacing scowl.

Even with only the glow from the passing streetlights, Jessica must have been able to discern his intent; she pulled her hand away quickly, almost as if she'd been burned. The look he gave also seemed to sober her up. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders with a huff and turned up her nose, obviously insulted and annoyed. Edward should have apologized for being so gruff, but he doubted he'd ever see her again. So much for not embarrassing his sister.

/|P|\\

The gallery was filled with people, admiring the artwork and enjoying glasses of champagne. They mingled and laughed, putting on an air of importance; Edward found them to be pretentious and snobby. It wasn't the sort of scene he enjoyed, not even when Angela had occasionally had a photograph or two on display. Back then, if only to make his wife happy, he had played the part. He complimented the women on their beauty, even if he was appalled by their leathery, tanned skin and bleached blond hair. He talked business with the men, feigning interest in their stock portfolios and weekend golf games.

Without Angela by his side, the atmosphere was stifling. There were too many people in the enclosed space, the bright lights glaring down on him. The air felt stuffy and overheated, causing a line of sweat to bead across his forehead. He pulled his shirt away from his chest, feeling like he was choking, even with two buttons undone. He undid another, hoping to stave off the smothering feeling that was overtaking him.

He looked around for his companions, but didn't see them anywhere. It would be hard to miss Rosalie's brilliant blond hair and flaming red dress or Emmett's hulking form. He considered just walking away and calling a cab, but he didn't want to be a total asshole. Edward was sure Jessica thought he was a prick, an observation Rosalie would likely agree with. He knew he should have tried to pull himself together and salvage what was left of the evening. Instead, he grabbed two glasses of champagne and looked for a place to sulk.

His salvation was found in a dark, deserted hallway corridor. Edward sank down on the wooden bench that was pushed against the wall, quickly drinking one of his glasses of champagne. It was his fifth drink of the night, far more than he usually had, and he knew he should cut himself off, but the numbness of his lips and slightly confused feeling in his head was a welcome respite from his sorrow. He shook his head and laughed to himself at the absurdity of the whole situation.

Closing his eyes, he thought of Angela again. Feeling a little bit tipsy, the memories brought a smile to his face. He thought about the first time they made love, a fumbling, awkward endeavor in a twin-sized dorm room bed. Angela's roommate had gone home for the weekend, an opportunity they'd taken advantage of. Edward lived in a suite with a whole gang of boys; someone was always there. Angela had been lucky to get in a preferred dormitory. Though the bathroom was communal, there were only two girls to each room.

Though Edward hadn't been a virgin, he hardly considered his one-time backseat encounter with a fiery redhead named Victoria as the experience to make him an adequate lover. That memory was hazy, probably because it had only lasted mere minutes, a couple of thrusts. Angela was the proper Reverend's daughter, pure as the driven snow. Edward would have waited if she wanted, because he loved her, but she assured him she was ready. She always insisted that she wasn't waiting for marriage, just waiting for the right man.

Edward's smile widened as he thought about the fiery blush that bloomed on Angela's cheeks when she saw him naked for the first time, hard and ready. She'd touched him with shaking fingers, tentative and unsure. He'd kissed her softly and told her he loved her, his sincerity evident in his eyes. He would have stopped at any moment if she had only asked.

Slow, sweet kisses soon became heated and insistent. Hands roamed and body parts aligned. That first thrust should have been like heaven, warm and wet, but he hated the pain he knew he was inflicting upon the woman he never wanted to hurt. She grimaced immediately, adjusting to the feeling of Edward deep within in her. Moments later, she brought her hips up to meet his, urging him on. Edward's second time didn't last much longer than the first, but nothing could match the sweet smile on Angela's face when it was over, the loving look she gave him as she cupped his cheeks and told him she loved him. In that moment, he'd known she was it for him, the woman he was meant to spend his life with.

The sound of heels clacking on the tiled floor interrupted Edward's memories but did little to dampen his slightly inebriated, much-improved mood. The sound stopped close to him, close enough for him to feel the heat of another body.

"Fuck off," he said, though his voice was light and full of mirth. He just assumed it was Rosalie coming to collect her moping lush of a brother. Edward wasn't ready to leave his spot, happy to sit there and watch the memories of Angela play beneath his eyelids. He also had another glass of champagne to finish, never one to be wasteful.

"Excuse me?" the voice asked, throaty and warm, so unlike the cold and detached tone of his sister. Turning his head in the direction of the voice, eyes still closed, Edward prepared to offer some witty reply, but the words died on his tongue as his unwanted companion's smell assaulted his senses. She smelled like clean sheets and fresh rain, subtle and so unlike the strong, gag-inducing scents most women seemed to prefer.

Opening his eyes, he saw a petite brunette standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, her stance one of defiance. She was small and pale, with waves of thick brown hair trailing down her back. Her dress was black and simple, plain, as if she were trying to blend into the background. Her skin was smooth, like ivory, her face not hidden behind layers of make-up.

"Did you just tell me to fuck off?" she asked, her annoyance clear by her tone.

"Yes, but in my defense, I thought you were my sister, the very sister that set me up on a blind date with an insipid, gossiping, annoying woman."

"Is that the reason you're sitting alone in a corner, boozing it up?"

"I'm not 'boozing it up' as you so eloquently stated. Just sitting alone, clearing my head and enjoying a couple drinks."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you only alcoholics drink alone? And I'd wager that you've had more than a couple, judging by your bloodshot eyes and the drool on your chin."

"What?" Edward asked, indignant, reaching up to swipe at his mouth, but finding nothing there.

"So can I sit? Or would you prefer that I 'fuck off' as _you_ so eloquently put it?"

Edward smiled at the woman standing in front of him, patting the space on the bench next to him, inviting her to sit. She plopped down without hesitation, rummaging in her oversized purse. Edward never understood the allure of such a giant bag. What did women actually carry in there? Her purse was so large that he thought he could have used it as luggage; there was surely enough space in there to pack for a weekend trip to the beach.

He was shocked when her hands emerged holding a flask covered in purple leather. She grinned as she unscrewed the cap, taking a large gulp before offering it to him. Alcohol killed germs so he didn't hesitate to take it. _Whiskey._ It burned going down, bitter and strong. Edward looked at the silver plate on the front, hoping to decipher the mystery woman's name, but the engraving wasn't a name. Instead, there was an elegant-looking swan carved into the metal.

"It's my last name," she said, as if she could read his thoughts. "Swan."

"Well, Swan, it's nice to meet you," Edward said, holding his hand out for her to shake. "Cullen."

An hour later, Rosalie found him still sitting on the bench with the swan: Bella. They were both drunk and laughing, slumped over against one another as tears leaked from their eyes. Edward knew Rosalie was angry, her stare cold and penetrating, but he wasn't going to waste his time caring. Though the evening had started out as a total shitfest, it had morphed into something else.

Edward didn't know if it was the liquor or the company, but he felt lighter than he had in weeks, maybe years. It had been liberating to sit with someone and talk about nothing, someone that didn't know about the pain he'd suffered the past few years, someone that had no expectations of him. The painful squeezing grip on his heart was still there, but had lessened in its intensity. Even in his drunken haze, he knew he was truly ready to try to move on.

/|P|\\

The next morning, Edward awoke to the bright sun streaming through the open curtains, the birds chirping in the tree outside. It was a perfect morning, the dew clinging to a spider web crafted perfectly in the corner of his window. If he were a chipper, morning person, he might have enjoyed the subtle display. As it were, he felt the urge to gag. Of course, that could have been the result of the alcohol that still churned in his stomach and flowed through his veins.

The events after Rosalie had found him on the bench with Bella were hazy, muddled by the throbbing headache he'd woken with. He remembered Rosalie calling for Emmett to help him get to the car, the drunken stumbling through the nearly deserted gallery. The show had wrapped up and his companions had been unable to locate him. It was the loud guffaws that echoed through the empty space that eventually led them to his location.

Scratching his bare chest, he moved into the kitchen, starting the coffee pot as he rummaged through the cupboards for some breakfast. The cabinets were mostly bare, a result of the workaholic tendencies he'd adopted since being alone; he didn't have time to shop. His mother had bought most of what was to be found, but she hadn't dropped by with groceries in a couple weeks.

Dragging out a stale box of some tasteless granola cereal, he dumped a bunch in a bowl and pulled out the carton of milk. A quick glance at the side revealed that it had expired several days before. Edward sniffed the contents inside, deciding that it didn't smell _too_ bad. He crammed giant spoonfuls into his mouth, eating even though it tasted like sour milk and cardboard.

As soon as the smell of coffee filled the air, he dumped the rotten cereal down the drain, not bothering to turn on the disposal. He grabbed an oversized cup from the cabinet and filled it with coffee, black and strong. Edward winced as it burned his tongue and throat, not waiting for it to cool to a drinkable temperature. Rustling around in one of the drawers, he found a bottle of Advil, dumping out a handful and washing them down with more coffee. The taste of rancid milk still lingered on his tongue.

Edward heard his cell phone ringing somewhere in his bedroom, finally locating it on the floor beneath the crumpled clothes he'd been wearing the night before. He groaned as he hit the talk button, hoping that Rosalie had kept her mouth shut. He was too old to listen to a speech from his mother about his disrespectful behavior or his drinking.

"Hey Mom," he answered, his voice gravely and thick with sleep.

"Edward, dear, how are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, just a little tired."

"Well, I won't keep you on the phone, but I just wanted to make sure we were still on for brunch? The whole family is meeting at that new bakery that just opened up downtown."

"I'll be there."

"I was just worried. I know things have been rough for you, and Rosalie said that last night you had a little too much to drink."

Edward silently cursed Rosalie, wondering why she always felt it necessary to share everything with their parents. There were certain things a mother should never know about her children, but Rosalie seemed to think differently. She'd always been the one to spill her guts and get them in trouble during their teenage years, always feeling guilty and confessing to staying out late, drinking, or sneaking into bars with a fake ID. Edward had hoped she would lose that annoying habit as they'd gotten older, but her verbal diarrhea had only seemed to intensify.

At the sound of Angela's name, Edward tried to tune his mother back in, hoping to politely end the conversation.

"I know that you loved Angela very much, but she would want you to move on with your life. She loved you Edward; she would want you to be happy."

"Mom, I know you're concerned, but I'm fine. Look, I gotta go if I'm going to meet you at one. I still have to take a shower."

"Okay, sweetie. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

Edward sat the phone down with a frustrated sigh, already dreading the inquisition that was sure to come at lunch. He didn't want to hear about the pretty new nurse at the hospital or the nice girl his mother met at church. He wasn't completely sure he was ready to move on, but he was trying. Edward wanted to do it on his own terms, however. He didn't need him mother or his father or his sister to pick someone for him. It was obvious that Rosalie's judgment in that area was completely lacking, based upon the previous night's debacle.

/|P|\\

Edward winced as he pulled off his sunglasses; the harsh fluorescent lights of the bakery were unforgiving, further intensifying the headache that only more alcohol could cure. He briefly wondered if they served Bloody Marys, but knew his mother would not approve of him imbibing even if they did. That thought annoyed him. He was a grown man. It shouldn't matter what his mother thought.

Maybe he should have slipped a flask into the pocket of his hoodie, just a little something to take the edge off. He wasn't an alcoholic, but it would be nice to loosen up, feel at little more at ease around his family. The flask reminded him of Swan—of Bella—and he realized he didn't even know if she'd made it home unscathed. He hoped that Emmett and Rosalie had at least called a cab for her or helped her find the companions she'd been avoiding at the opening. He shouldn't have gotten so drunk that he wasn't able to make sure she was safe. After all, she was just trying to stir him out of his pensive mood.

A quick check of his watch alerted Edward that he was twenty minutes late. That was par for the course. He was never on time and thought his family should just be glad he didn't decide to ditch them. They weren't hard to spot in the crowded restaurant; his father always wanted a corner table near the windows. He watched them momentarily, talking and laughing. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could just forget, that he could join in their conversation and not feel like an outsider; he missed his wife again. She was always the buffer between them, always more at ease than he was. He loved his family, yet he never really felt like he fit in with them. Angela's death had only deepened the divide.

Slumping down into the one of the empty seats, Edward noticed there was already a tepid cup of coffee and a croissant sitting there. The empty seat to his right didn't escape his notice and he found the urge to wince or break down. Maybe he wasn't ready to move on after all.

The conversation continued all around him, but he concentrated on stuffing his face, assuming that no one would question him if he had a mouth full of bread. When the waitress stopped by, he ordered bacon, eggs, and a waffle. The hangover made him crave something greasy, yet he couldn't resist the allure of maple syrup. The waffle made him think of Angela again.

She would always let him sleep in on Sundays. Breakfast was the only meal she could cook well, and he would be awakened by the smell of French toast, coffee, and bacon. It was their ritual. More often than not he would find her in the kitchen wearing one of his shirts, her bare legs taunting him. She was tall and fit, her skin the perfect tone to appear as though she'd been kissed by the sun, even if she never cared for tanning. He thought about all the times their breakfast would grow cold, only to be reheated later in the microwave.

He just couldn't resist the magnetic pull he felt towards her. Sometimes he would sweet talk her and wear down her resolve with slow, lazy kisses before leading her back to the bedroom to make love with the bright morning sun streaming in through the window. Other times they never made it that far, their desire for one another forcing things to become heated and rushed. He fondly remembered the times he'd fucked her hard against the counter or on the kitchen floor.

Hearing Emmett mention the night before and a "sweet ass brunette," Edward was pulled from his memories, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to be concerned for Bella's welfare. He still couldn't believe Emmett said such things in front of his wife, but Rosalie never seemed to care. She'd always been beautiful and she was secure in her marriage, knowing that while Emmett might occasionally look, he would never touch.

"They were just sitting on this bench, laughing like mad, an empty flask between them, glasses littering the floor beside an empty champagne bottle."

Edward rubbed his hand across his forehead, trying to fill in the blanks from the night before. He definitely remembered the first two glasses of champagne and the flask, but he didn't recall drinking anything more. A flash of a barefoot and giggling Bella popped into his head, an open bottle of champagne in her hand. Then he remembered how she'd said she had connections and ran off to supplement their depleted supply. He winced as he recalled telling her she was beautiful, the faint lighting in the hallway making her skin appear luminescent. It had felt right in the moment, but remembering, it felt like betrayal. Angela was beautiful; Bella was…something else.

"What happened to Bella?" he asked, realizing it was the first time he'd spoken since sitting down when four sets of eyes turned in his direction, their gazes boring into his clammy skin. He could practically feel the alcohol trying to sweat its way out. "Did she get home okay?"

"Yeah, bro, I tried to call her a cab, but she said she was fine. She lived next door so I made sure she got into her building before we left."

Edward rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, debating his next words. Though the details of the night were hazy, he knew that he'd had fun, that Bella made him feel different. He wanted to see her again.

"Did you happen to get her number? I want to call her and make sure she's okay, apologize for getting so tanked."

Rosalie cocked her eyebrow and gave him that look, the one that let him know she wasn't pleased. She'd been giving it to him since they were children—when he'd cut off all of her Barbies' hair or stolen her diary and made fun of her crush on Eric Yorkie.

"Thankfully, no. I don't think it's a good idea for you to see that girl again. She's obviously a bad influence, getting you drunk in a public place like that."

"Rosalie, she didn't get me drunk. In case you've forgotten, I'm an adult. I chose to get drunk. Maybe I wouldn't have been in such a piss poor mood if you hadn't set me up with a laughing hyena that couldn't keep her hands to herself." It was a low blow and he knew it before the words even left his mouth. Rosalie had just been trying to help him, but his ire was sparked by the condescending way she spoke about Bella.

Rosalie huffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest as she sulked like a petulant child. Waffles suddenly didn't sound quite as appealing.

/|P|\\

On Sunday, Edward spent the afternoon cleaning up. He was a poor excuse for a housekeeper, allowing dishes to sit in the sink for days, dirty laundry to clutter the bathroom floor. His mother had harassed him endlessly to hire someone, but it seemed like a waste of money. He also didn't like the idea of some strange person in his house, going through his things.

After picking his clothes up from the bathroom floor, he carried them all into the laundry room, dumping the mix of whites and colors into the washer. A pair of pants fell on the floor, but he ignored them, turning the dial to cold and dumping in a liberal amount of detergent. Reaching down to pick up the fallen garment, a crumpled sheet of paper fell from the pocket.

Throwing the slacks into the washing machine and dropping the lid, he leaned against the machine and unfurled the paper. Scribbled down on the front of a well-worn receipt were seven digits and a crude drawing of a swan. He smiled to himself, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his chest.

/|P|\\

* * *

**A/N**: This is very different than _blossom_, but I hope you'll stick with me and give it a chance. I won't have a set update schedule until my other story and its outtakes are complete, but I will update regularly. Reviews are greatly appreciated. :)


	2. Two

Thanks to shoefreak37 and Alby Mangroves for the beta work. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Edward sat in front of his desk, pushing paperwork around and pretending to be busy. The day was dragging by and he had no interest in being at work, especially at a job that wasn't a career, wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his life. The cramped little office that smelled like paper and stale coffee wasn't his choice. He never thought he'd long for the odor of disinfectant, blood, vomit, and piss.

Carlisle was a doctor and Edward had followed in his footsteps, happy to step in and work alongside the man he admired most. He had never seen Carlisle more proud of him than the day he graduated from medical school; his father was practically beaming. It was a special moment between father and son, a fulfillment of a dream Carlisle had, but something he'd never pushed Edward into. Though Carlisle had always expressed a desire for one of his children to follow him into medicine, he'd never been forceful. Edward was gifted in science, however; it seemed like a natural progression.

He loved being a doctor. Working in the ER was stressful and demanding, but there was a sense of pride and accomplishment. Most injuries were minor—broken bones, sprains, and cuts that needed stitches—but on the days when a major trauma was admitted and Edward got to assist in saving a life, well, there was just no better feeling. It was exhilarating.

Edward had never put much trust in God or church or Jesus. His convictions were held in science, believing that medicine was a much better choice for his loyalty, not some unknown deity. Science was tangible, real. He could rely on medicines and treatments to provide cures. God didn't always answer prayers. When Angela got sick, cracks in that faith began to appear.

At first, he had been sure Angela would pull through, that the treatments would work and their lives would continue on like nothing had gone awry. As she began to slide downhill, he felt like he was falling with her. And when she reached her lowest point just before death, he found himself on his knees in the hospital chapel, staring at the crucifix behind the alter and wondering why.

When she died, he was lost and angry, his faith completely gone. Medicine had failed him. His training had failed him. He was a doctor, committed to saving lives, and he couldn't save the one person that meant the most to him. God had failed him, too, refusing to answer his prayers, immune to his tears.

Edward had taken a leave of absence after that—a leave that was supposed to be temporary. He was too bitter to work in the ER, the desire to save the loved ones of other people no longer present within him. A job that had once been hopeful and fulfilling left him feeling bereft and full of resentment.

Two years would pass before he felt the urge to return to work again, and even at that point he wanted nothing to do with patients or doctors or hospitals. His father had pulled some strings, called in some favors, and helped him land an administrative position with a non-profit organization that provided free health care.

He didn't want the job, didn't want to do something that had any ties to his previous career, no matter how tenuous the link. Carlisle had been unrelenting, convincing him of the good he could do, how it would be good for him to get out of the house and do something productive with his time. He knew that his father thought this would be a stepping stone. Edward could see it in his eyes, the hope that this would help him move back into his career as a doctor, little by little.

And so Edward had argued. His father made it seem as if he'd wasted two years of his life doing nothing, but Edward had needed that time to grieve, to learn to live as one half of a whole. At some point, however, he realized he would have to at least attempt to join the world again, to become a productive member of society. Finally, he gave in, if only to make his parents happy. His job was unfulfilling and boring, but at least they were proud of him for making an effort. But sitting at his desk in his tiny little office, he found himself longing to have a stethoscope in his hands.

Edward doubted the ER would ever be the place for him again; there were too many things that could go wrong, too many chances to mess up. He wasn't sure if he could deal with losing the life of a patient after an accident or an unexpected ailment. He definitely knew he wasn't ready to watch someone wither away from the effects of a terminal illness. The thought of entering into a private practice seemed promising, but what kind of doctor could he be if he couldn't deal with death?

Everything in his life seemed to link back to Angela and Edward wondered if he'd ever be able to sever those bonds—to not think about her every time he went to work, every time he came home, every time he tried to pull his life back together. Would she haunt him forever?

/|P|\\

Two weeks passed with the wrinkled receipt sitting on Edward's nightstand, taunting him. He found himself staring at it at night when he was lonely and the house was quiet. It was still strange for him to be alone. He missed the feeling of a warm body next to his, the smell of a woman on his sheets. He'd tried a few times to pick up a random woman, intending to bring her back to his house for just one night; it would be nice to find a release that wasn't brought forth by his hand. Edward hadn't been able to follow through, though.

He'd gone out to countless taverns and pubs, sitting at the bar watching, waiting. Edward remembered the first time he'd gone out looking for a one-night stand, when he'd forgotten to remove the shiny band from around his finger. He'd been annoyed with himself when he'd realized it, disgusted by the blond that was attempting to chat him up, brushing her breasts along his arm and whispering in his ear. Did she not see his wedding ring, not care that he was some other woman's husband?

Edward had felt sick, not even bothering to make an excuse as he fled. Despite having nursed only two drinks throughout the evening, he'd thrown up all over the sidewalk, guilt churning in his stomach. It felt wrong for another woman to look at him that way, to touch him and fantasize about him. All he could think about was Angela, wondering if she was the only woman he would ever want.

That was how most of his attempts had ended, with him leaving before anything progressed beyond conversation. There was one night when he'd come closer, going so far as to follow a woman home. He couldn't take her back to his house, wouldn't defile the home—the bed—he'd shared with Angela in that way. He didn't even remember the woman's name, just that she was blond. Edward stayed away from brunettes; they reminded him too much of what he'd lost.

When they'd arrived at the woman's shithole of an apartment, she'd tried to kiss him, but he'd turned his head, the pungent odor of stale cigarettes and some fruity drink lingering on her breath. Her perfume was too strong and everything about her was all wrong. He missed Angela's soft skin, her warm brown eyes, and that look she always gave him when she was turned on. He closed his eyes and tried to remember—to forget—as the unnamed woman began to undress him, trailing sloppy kisses down his neck and torso. He felt like he was being licked by a dog.

He stood still as a statue while she undid his belt and lowered his zipper. When she yanked down his pants and let them drop to his ankles, he realized that his cock was just lying there—limp, flaccid. The blond seemed undeterred, dropping to her knees and engulfing him in her mouth. She licked and sucked; the slurping sounds coming from her mouth made him feel like gagging and he wasn't even the one with a dick shoved down his throat.

Annoyed, Edward pushed the woman away. He didn't bother to button his shirt or fix his belt before he left, simply pulling his pants up and tucking his traitorous dick inside his boxer briefs. Blondie called after him, but he ignored her, not stopping until he saw the flashing neon sign inside the window of a liquor store. He stepped inside and bought a fifth, unscrewing the cap as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

By the time he reached home, he was stumbling and the bottle was half gone. He continued to drink until he passed out, intent on blaming the whole experience on whiskey dick, even if he hadn't really started drinking until after it happened.

That was the last time he'd made an effort. Though sitting in front of his computer and whacking off to internet porn wasn't nearly as gratifying as being buried inside a warm, tight pussy, there was no guilt involved. He didn't feel like he was betraying Angela and his cock didn't betray him.

Picking up the note again, he stared at the numbers even though he'd memorized them right after finding it in the pocket of his jeans. It had been two weeks. Perhaps Bella had forgotten him, or maybe she'd gotten so drunk that she didn't remember meeting him at all. Steeling his nerves, he punched in the digits. Part of him almost wished that she wouldn't answer or that she'd blow him off. He was venturing into uncharted territory and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act.

On the third ring, a sleep-filled voice mumbled a hello and Edward immediately cursed himself, realizing belatedly that it was after midnight on a weekday. He was so out of practice at trying to be human, interacting with people around him. His family were really the only people he spent any time with and they'd learned to deal with him, their expectations of his behavior lowering with each passing day after Angela's death.

"Hi, this is, uh, Edward…Edward Cullen."

"Edward," Bella sighed. Her voice was deep and throaty, thick with sleep, and he could hear her sheets rustling in the background.

"Shit, it's late. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I just—"

"Calm down, Cullen. It's not _that_ late."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing Bella. I just…wanted to talk to you."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Start talking."

/|P|\\

The next day, Edward sat at his piano, fingers running lightly over the keys. He pushed down a chord, listening to the out-of-tune sound ring out into the quiet of his house. It sounded like he felt—coarse and conflicted. The piano hadn't been tuned in years, not since the desire to play had left him. It sat in the corner, a bleak reminder of what he'd lost.

He pressed discordant keys, comforted by the sour sounds. There was no rhyme or reason to his banging, just a way to release the pent up anger and frustration. He thought of Bella. He thought of Angela. He hit the keys with his fist and slammed the cover shut.

Edward had played often when Angela was sick, the melodies a soothing balm for his aching heart. She enjoyed listening to him play, commenting that it helped her relax, to forget the pain and the uncertainty of her future. The evening she died, he had played for hours into the night, unable to deal with the quiet inside their home. He hadn't played since, unable to find the music again.

Angela had been the person to convince him to play. She'd bought him lessons for his birthday several years after they were married. He felt silly, a grown man taking lessons, but the piano was something he'd always wanted to learn. He'd played a little as a child, but was too energetic to sit through lessons, to learn to read music and use the proper technique when playing. Taking lessons again, things came easily for him. He was no prodigy, but he was decent.

Edward stared across the black expanse of the piano top. The once shiny instrument was covered in dust; it had become a random space where he threw down the newspaper, mail, keys—any item that didn't really have a home. He closed his eyes and remembered it as it once was, covered in family photos, each in matching silver frames, a vase full of fresh flowers in the center.

_Tulips._

They were Angela's favorite flower. He stopped at the small flower shop near their home once a week to pick up fresh ones for her. And even though he did it every week, she would still smile brightly and thank him, as if the gesture wasn't expected.

He fondly remembered the fall when she decided she would grow her own. They'd gone to the local home improvement store and spent nearly two hundred dollars on bulbs and tools, spending an entire weekend planting them. In the spring, when they had bloomed, she'd been so happy and excited, not realizing that their presence would be fleeting.

Somehow, she had convinced herself that they would last through the spring, that she would be able to go out and pick them to fill vases all around the house. The flowers had lasted only for a couple of weeks. Edward remembered the evening he came home to find her sitting in the middle of the flower beds sulking. The next day, he'd gone back to the flower shop, resuming his weekly purchase.

Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase the memories. It seemed as if everything in the house reminded him of her; he couldn't escape. Sometimes he thought that maybe he should move, sell the place and start over. But the idea of being so far removed from all the things that reminded him of her hurt even more. So he stayed…and he suffered.

/|P|\\

The dim lights and pulsing beat of the music was giving Edward a headache. The bar stool on which he sat was squeaky and uncomfortable, the wood groaning with every move he made. His beer was warm and tasted like piss, but it was dollar draft night and he didn't want to stand out; everyone around him was drinking the same. He took a large gulp, swallowing down the remainder of what was in his glass, wondering why he'd even agreed to go out and meet Bella.

Minutes later, he heard a woman giggling loudly to his left; he'd know that laugh anywhere. Turning, he saw Bella standing next to the pool tables, her hand on the forearm of a rather large man with long, dark hair. Edward's stomach clenched with an unfamiliar feeling and he wondered if maybe Bud Light wasn't such a good idea. He watched as the man held Bella tightly to his chest. She struggled against him, but the smile on her face made it obvious that she was enjoying his attention.

Edward turned back around, not even bothering to alert Bella to his presence. He waved the bartender over and ordered a shot of whiskey, hoping the alcohol would lessen the throbbing ache that was assaulting his temples. His body stiffened automatically as he felt a warm hand on his neck, gently kneading the knotted muscles. Her touch was firm and comforting, but he couldn't allow himself to relax.

"You need to loosen up," he heard her whisper in his ear, her warm breath washing over him. He felt her pressed against his back as she leaned in, her breasts rubbing against him. Edward wanted to pull away, but just for a moment he closed his eyes, trying to imagine this moment under different circumstances.

He imagined that he didn't have a dead wife, the memories of her haunting his every waking moment. He wished that he was an unattached bachelor, not a widower with a heft of baggage weighing him down. Just for one moment, Edward wanted to be a single, successful man without a care, enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.

Her hand continued to linger on his skin, the warmth radiating from her fingertips, but the heat wasn't enough to penetrate his cold, unyielding flesh. Edward felt like he was made of stone, like a statue carved from marble. He should have been able to enjoy the moment, to _feel_ something, but the thoughts rattling around in his head wouldn't allow it.

A memory of Angela flashed into his mind, just for a moment, but it was enough to cause him to flinch away. He thought of Angela leaning over him in a similar way, arms wrapped around his shoulders as she kissed his neck, her hands moving lower, lightly grazing his skin as she left a trail of fire scorching down his back.

They were at the beach, a weekend trip to his family's home along the shore. The house was the last in a long line, nestled between the trees to provide some privacy. He'd been sitting shirtless on the beach, watching the waves roll in. They'd made the drive just for the weekend, wanting a chance to get away, to forget the uncertainty swirling around them.

Angela had spent the morning lounging in a chair on the back deck, soaking up as much sun as possible. Edward had checked on her repeatedly, reminding her to drink lots of water, and going out every two hours to spray her down with sunscreen. The treatments made her skin sensitive and he didn't want her to get a sunburn on top of everything else. He knew that he was annoying her, but she endured his constant fussing with a gentle smile on her face.

Edward remembered how she looked that day, wearing a modest, vintage-style bathing suit with a giant floppy hat on her head. Her olive skin looked ashen and pale, a roadmap of purple veins and bruises marring its once perfect tone. She looked weak and frail, her tiny hands clutched around a glass of sweet tea.

She'd sat out there for hours, blaming the sun for robbing her of her strength. Edward knew different. When the afternoon sun rose high in the sky, he had to carry her to bed, her legs too weak to support her. Angela had laughed and made light of the situation, but he knew. Even with the smiles and the brave front she tried to put on, he could see the fear deep within her eyes.

Once Edward had settled her into bed, he'd retreated to the beach, to quiet and solitude. He watched the birds fly overhead, the waves crash along the shore, and sun dip lower in the sky. He wanted to cry; he could feel the tears prickling his eyes, but they never came.

Angela made her way out later, quietly coming up behind him. He'd felt her presence, but he didn't turn around. She'd leaned over him, letting her actions speak the words that neither of them were ready to say. It was too soon for goodbye.

Eventually Edward had carried her inside and made love to her on the large, plush bed. He whispered words of love and adoration, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her skin, committing it to memory. He knew the end was near and he didn't want to forget, to waste a moment of the time they had left.

When Angela had fallen asleep that night, he slipped out once again, walking along the shore and letting his toes curl in the sand. Under the cloudy, seemingly moonless sky, the tears had finally fallen.

Rowdy cheers near the pool tables pulled Edward from his memories. He looked over to see a couple of men high-fiving one another, laughing loudly with the group around them. Turning his eyes back to Bella, Edward noticed that she was watching him closely, a sympathetic smile on her face. He tried to force his mouth to cooperate, but he was sure his attempt looked more like a grimace.

/|P|\\

He was drunk.

Slumped over in a booth in the corner, he watched the neon lights blur and dance. The bar was closed; the sounds of the jukebox and the pool balls banging against one another had long since ceased. The only sounds Edward heard were those that took place after hours: glasses being washed and stacked, beer bottles being tossed into the trash, a broom being pushed across the old wood floor.

Edward could vaguely make out Bella's form leaned against the far side of the bar, talking with the long-haired man from before. _Jacob._ He was nice enough, if more than a little overbearing where Bella was concerned. Edward hated him instantly. There was something there, between him and Bella, but Edward was too drunk to ask about it tactfully. Asking whether they'd fucked certainly wasn't going to earn him points with anyone.

He expected Bella to react when he'd flinched away from her at the bar, to pry and ask questions he wasn't ready to answer. She'd surprised him by doing none of that. In fact, she didn't react at all. Bella simply sat down on the bar stool beside him, waiting patiently for him to get a grip on his emotions. Motioning the bartender over, she had ordered shots of whiskey, pretending like nothing odd had happened. One shot turned into two, then four, and before long he found himself unable to sit upright on the stool.

Bella had called Jacob over to help get him into a booth to sober him up. The big brute had manhandled him easily, practically dragging him across the bar. Bella had chastised Jacob, smacking him on the arm and warning him to be careful. Her words might as well have fallen on deaf ears. Edward was sure he was going to have bruises on his ribcage from where the ogre had squeezed him too tightly.

He wondered what had brought the change on. Jacob had been amiable during the earlier parts of the evening, offering them food and drinks on the house. Edward couldn't recall whether he said he owned the bar or just managed it, but whichever it was, he was in charge.

As the evening progressed, however, he noticed Jacob watching them more closely, the displeasure evident on his face. Jacob lingered near them behind the bar, his scowl deepening any time Bella would brush up against Edward or touch him, even if it was just his forearm. Edward didn't know what to make of it other than jealousy, even if he and Bella were only friends, though even that definition of their relationship was questionable.

Bella was easy to talk to, to be with. Edward enjoyed her company, mostly because she was different than anyone else in his life. She was blunt like Rosalie, but not in the bitchy, condescending manner his sister almost always employed. She didn't pry into his life, simply accepting the information he was willing to share. Part of him wanted to tell her, to explain, but there was something very freeing about befriending someone that didn't know his history.

Edward forced his eyes to focus on Bella as she made her way back across the bar towards him. There was fire in her eyes, annoyance in her step. Edward could see the anger etched in her features. There was no doubt in his mind that that neanderthal Jacob had done something to piss her off. Her hands were clenched at her sides, balled into tiny fists.

Bella huffed as she slid into the booth beside him, her entire body stiff and tense. She rested her head on Edward's shoulder and closed her eyes. He raised his arm and placed it on the back of the bench around her, offering comfort the best way he knew how. He let his fingers curl in her hair, soft and silky as it fell down her back. Slowly, still unsure, he moved his arm down, allowing it to curl around her.

His fingers landed on the bare skin of her shoulder and he gave it a gentle squeeze. Her skin was satiny and smooth, pale with pink undertones, like strawberries and cream. Edward felt her melt closer into his side. She smelled like soap, clean and pure.

Edward looked towards the bar, noticing that Jacob had stopped his work and was staring at them. Bella must have opened her eyes and noticed it as well because she made a grumbling noise and began to slide out of the booth. Once she was standing, she reached for Edward's hand and pulled.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

The walk to his house was short. The sun had long since set, but the heat still lingered, making the air feel warm and thick. Edward felt the sweat beading on his brow and down his back, the alcohol in his system doing nothing to cool him down. If anything, it only seemed to exacerbate the sticky feeling on his skin. He pushed his hair away from his forehead and undid two more buttons on his shirt.

Bella was still holding his hand, walking quietly beside him. Edward looked at their intertwined fingers, wondering what the hell he was doing. He felt like he was at an impasse, his life balancing on the edge of a knife. Everything he did felt like two steps forward and one step back, like he was at a fork in the road and didn't know which path to choose. Or maybe he'd just had too much to drink and wasn't thinking clearly.

When they arrived at his house, Edward wasn't sure what was happening, so he allowed Bella to follow him to his door and then inside. It was late. Bella's apartment wasn't far from the bar, but in the opposite direction in which Edward lived. He decided that he could call a cab to come and pick her up, to make sure she arrived at her destination safely. The neighborhood was relatively crime-free, but it still wasn't safe for a young woman to be walking alone so late at night, especially after having quite a few drinks.

Edward walked straight into the kitchen, pulling two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Bella followed several moments later and he noticed that she'd removed her boots. Her feet were small, her toes painted a garish shade of red. She took the water from him and took a long gulp. They stood there next to one another, leaning up against the island, neither saying a word.

Without thinking, Edward grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway. He stopped short, before he reached his bedroom, and dragged her into one of the guest rooms. It was the larger of the two spare rooms, the one with an attached bathroom.

"Stay here," he said.

Edward walked swiftly to his bedroom, hastily grabbing items from one of his drawers, hoping the choices would be acceptable. He quickly shed his own clothing, slipping on a pair of worn pajama pants and an old white t-shirt. When he returned to the guest room, Bella was sitting on the bed, waiting.

He thrust the clothes at her without explanation and she took them willingly. As she retreated into the bathroom, Edward turned off the overhead light and switched on the dim lamp on the nightstand. He pulled back the comforter and situated himself beneath the covers. It wasn't until he was lying there in the quiet that he really took a moment to consider what he'd done, what he was going to do.

The alcohol seemed the likely scapegoat, the easiest place to lay the blame for his obvious lapse in judgment. Bella was spending the night, sharing his bed. The idea made his stomach queasy, but he ignored it, determined to move forward. There was nothing wrong with sleeping next to her, feeling her warmth next to him in the bed.

Edward had chosen the guest room because it was neutral territory. He tried to imagine Bella in _his _bed, but the idea made his stomach roll. That was _Angela's _bed, the bed where they had shared their most intimate moments. No other woman would ever take her place in that bed, in his heart, but he yearned for some close contact. It wouldn't be the same, but maybe it would suffice.

When the bathroom door opened, Edward felt his chest tighten. Bella was standing there in his t-shirt, her long, bare legs tempting him. Edward silently cursed her for not putting on the pants he'd given her, even though he knew they were way too big. Her exposed skin might cause him to do something stupid. He held his breath and closed his eyes as she climbed into bed, hoping that she wouldn't touch him while equally wishing that she would. He felt the bed dip, the blankets rustle, and then nothing.

He glanced in her direction from the corner of his eye, just enough to see her lying there on her back, staring at the ceiling. He breathed a sigh of relief, his position mirroring hers. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he felt her fingers touch his hand, their fingers once again weaving together.

/|P|\\

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated! :)


	3. Three

Shoefreak37 and Alby Mangroves make this better.

* * *

Edward awoke the next morning to complete silence, the space beside him in the bed empty and cold. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, lamenting the dry, dirty taste in his mouth. He reached down and adjusted his morning wood before throwing the covers back and heading into the bathroom.

The mirror was still coated in steam and the walls of the shower were wet; he'd barely missed her. Edward wondered why Bella didn't wake him up to say goodbye, or at least wait until he woke before she left. It wasn't as if anything had happened, like it was a night she needed to be ashamed about.

Though he had felt the heat radiating from her in bed all night, their bodies—with the exception of their hands—had remained apart. From the moment he'd felt her soft hand slip into his, he'd held on tight. There was something very comforting about the gesture and Edward felt like it was a step in the right direction. They were simply two friends sharing the same space, but it was the first time Edward had felt that close to a woman since Angela's death.

After taking a piss, he noticed the clothes stacked neatly on the vanity, but they didn't all belong to him. The pajama bottoms were his—the ones Bella had foregone wearing the night before—but the tiny, black shirt and set of matching underwear were not. He stood there for a beat too long, staring at the garments as he washed his hands.

Unable to control himself, Edward reached out with wet, tentative fingers and gently stroked the lace that ran around the edges of the panties. It felt coarse beneath his fingertips. The bra was decorated with the same lace, the molded cups rising from the counter like two small mountains. They looked to be about the size of his hands—completely average.

Realizing what he was doing—stroking a pair of worn underwear—Edward jerked his hand away, embarrassed. He felt like a pervert and wondered why Bella had left her things. Did she simply forget them? Or was she planning to come back?

Padding into the kitchen, Edward began rifling through the cabinets, cursing himself for not even being responsible enough to buy food. He was a grown-ass man; he should buy his own groceries, not rely on his mother. He'd thrown out all the stale cereal and poured out his spoiled milk, which left even fewer options than before.

Edward found an old granola bar in the junk drawer, outdated by more than six months, but he still considered eating it. It wasn't as if granola tasted that great anyway; he probably wouldn't even notice the difference. Just as he was about to peel off the wrapper, he heard his front door open, and then a string of muttered curses filled the air.

Peering into the living room, he saw Bella standing in the foyer, a coffee carrier in one hand and a mangled mess of shopping bags on the floor around her feet. Edward moved to help her, picking up the plastic bags and shoving the fallen items back inside.

"Where did you go?" he asked, even though the answer was fairly obvious.

"I was hungry and hungover and there's no food in your kitchen, so I walked to the gas station on the corner. They didn't have a lot of choices, but it was better than what you had. Who doesn't even have coffee? Or eggs? Or milk and cereal?" She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, her arm flailing about as she chastised him.

"My mom usually buys my groceries. I don't—I've never done my own shopping." Edward stopped himself from saying the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He'd never done the shopping because Angela had. Neither of them were very good cooks, so most of what they dined on was simple heat and eat stuff, but even knowing what to buy to make those sorts of meals confounded him.

He found himself eating easy stuff, like entire boxes of macaroni and cheese or pasta from a can. It wasn't exactly healthy, nor did it taste particularly good, but it was better than nothing. Esme tried buying him fresh fruits and veggies, but most of those just spoiled, aside from an occasional apple or orange he'd lift from the bowl on the counter when he was in a hurry.

Edward busied himself putting away the groceries Bella had purchased while she worked on frying sausage and eggs. He felt useless just standing there watching her, leaning against the counter drinking a cup of coffee. When the sausage was done and she started cracking eggs, Bella shoved a loaf of bread in his direction without a word. He smiled as he pulled out the toaster, putting in four slices of bread and hoping he wouldn't fuck even something that simple up.

Watching Bella move about the kitchen, Edward was surprised by how at ease she seemed in his house. She looked different in the morning light, his vision no longer clouded by alcohol or the lingering smoke and dim lighting of a bar. He found himself staring, noticing things he'd otherwise missed—the light smattering of freckles across her nose, the plumpness of her lower lip, and tiny star tattoo behind her ear. With her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, he thought she looked prettier than he'd ever seen her.

They ate breakfast at the counter, pulling out the stools that Edward was almost certain had never been used. He and Angela always ate breakfast huddled around the toaster, hastily shoving down Pop-Tarts or bagels, burning their tongues on coffee that was too hot. Edward was constantly in a rush to get to the hospital and Angela's days were filled with of weddings, new babies, and other portrait sessions.

Sundays were the only days when Angela cooked. Breakfast was the only meal she was proficient at, and even then there were only certain things she made well. That was the one meal they tried to share at the dining room table each week. It was their one chance to decompress, to concentrate on one another. Even when he pulled her away from the stove and interrupted what she was doing, they would still end up at the table with microwaved plates of food.

Dinners were usually from a box—whether take-out or Hamburger Helper—consumed while sitting in front of the television. There was a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away that Edward still frequented; Angela liked Chinese, but her favorite were those five dollar pizzas they advertised on TV. Edward found them to be revolting, with their heat lamp seared cheese and greasy pepperonis. Still, he found himself eating them several times per week, just to appease his wife.

Most nights were a fight for the remote control. Edward liked to watch reality TV and cop dramas. Angela, however was addicted to soapy, medical dramas. Hospitals didn't really work as they were portrayed and Edward found the shows to be frustrating. He'd explained to Angela countless times that there was no way such gifted surgeons would have so much time to spend screwing nurses in the on-call rooms, but she wouldn't relent. She would roll her eyes and huff when Edward would switch the channel to real life medical shows, ones that she referred to as "gross."

Angela usually won their nightly battles, mostly because she didn't play fair. Edward would even say she played dirty, making full use of her feminine wiles. She'd lick her lips and "accidentally" put her hand on his cock when wrestling for the remote, or rub herself up against him. When Edward tried similar tactics—palming her breasts or grinding himself against her—she'd laugh and shove him away, calling him a pervert. Maybe she'd been on to something.

After breakfast was finished, Bella gathered her things and headed home. She told Edward she had work she needed to take care of, but part of him wondered if she just wanted to get away. He feared that his inability to be open and forthcoming with information would make her shy away, but when she hugged him tight and kissed his cheek before walking out the door, he thought that maybe she was okay with that. Maybe she was willing to be patient.

/|P|\\

Edward sank the toe of his shoe into the sodden earth, digging up a small divot of overgrown grass. He stared at the fresh bouquet of flowers he'd brought along, the red standing in stark contrast again the grim, gray stone. The bench beneath him was damp and cold, the chill radiating through the layers of his clothes. The clouds were moving quickly across the dark sky, signaling an impending storm, but Edward couldn't bring himself to move.

_Angela Weber Cullen_

_Beloved wife, daughter, and friend_

He thought more about the word that was missing from her tombstone rather than the ones that were written, chiseled in stone for eternity. _Mother_. Images of a little girl with Angela's dark hair and his green eyes flashed quickly through Edward's mind, evaporating as swiftly as they had come.

They'd always wanted children, always felt they were meant to be parents. But there was never a rush to turn those dreams into reality. They were young when they married and assumed that they would have plenty of time, a wealth of years together in front of them. Instead, they wanted to enjoy the moments when it was just the two of them, to cherish their time alone.

Their careers became most important as Edward continued with school and Angela concentrated on getting her business off the ground. When they were finally settled, in a place where they were secure enough to handle the added expense of a child, they decided to put it off once more. They enjoyed being relatively carefree, able to waste money on frivolous things because they didn't have to worry about saving for a college fund or preparing for a new addition to their family.

Angela fell prey to the cliche and bought an imported red convertible. It only seated two, which was one of the reasons she bought it. She claimed that she wanted to enjoy her youth, to embrace the impracticality of the vehicle before she had to start driving an SUV, or even worse, a mini-van. Edward had teased her relentlessly, yet even he had to admit that she looked damn good driving that little car.

The year they turned thirty, they started to prepare, looking at houses in the suburbs. They put their condo on the market and Edward traded his jeep in for a more practical SUV with four doors and plenty of space in the back. Angela sulked for a while, but eventually sold her car. She refused to buy anything that could belong to a soccer mom, claiming she would be the cool parent that their children's friends would adore. Eventually she bought a little hatchback and Edward didn't have the heart to tell her it was something a soccer mom would most definitely drive.

They finally settled on a house in an up and coming part of town. It was within walking distance of a small shopping district with bars and restaurants, yet still allowed them to have a yard and some extra space. The community was very family friendly and Angela liked to sit on the porch, watching the neighbors walk their dogs and push their kids in strollers. It was also a short commute for both of them, a huge added bonus of the location.

Angela stopped taking her birth control and started attacking Edward more often. He wasn't opposed to that idea, thoroughly enjoying the times when she would join him in the shower or wake him in the middle of the night. They even let the back seats down flat and christened his new automobile, pulling off of the road in a wooded area not far from their new home.

As the months began to pass, however, and her period continued to show up regularly, Angela began to grow more and more frustrated. Edward convinced her that they should both get checked out, just to make sure everything was okay. He wasn't worried, knowing that some couples just had a harder time conceiving, and he thought having a doctor's opinion would ease her mind.

The doctor called a few days later, but everything wasn't okay. Edward remembered the frantic call he'd gotten at work, a tearful Angela speaking so rapidly between loud gulps of breath that he couldn't understand what she was saying. There were more tests, more poking and prodding, and then finally a diagnosis.

The outlook was grim from the start, but Edward refused to believe it, wanting her to be in that small percentage that made it, the small percentage that could be helped. There would be no children for them, at least not biological children. Edward accepted it fairly easily, more concerned for his wife, but she grieved that missed opportunity, blamed herself for all the years she had wasted waiting.

When her surgeries and treatments began, they looked into adoption. They knew it wasn't possible while she was ill, but he wanted to give her that comfort, to know that once things went back to normal, she could get the baby she always wanted. The filled out their paperwork and put it on file with an agency, taking every step they could so that things would be simple and easy when the time finally came, but the day they had planned for never showed up.

Sometimes Edward wished they'd had a child, that he still had that living tie between them. He wondered if he would have reacted differently to Angela's death, not allowed himself to sink so far if there was another person depending on him. He always imagined a little girl, one that looked a lot like the pictures of Angela he kept stowed away in the closet. His eyes were the only link between him and that imagined little person.

Other times he was glad that there was no child, that he didn't have the added burden and responsibility of another person, a person that couldn't do things on their own. He didn't know anything about babies or how to take care of them. Edward had grown up with Rosalie and there wasn't even a year between them; people often mistook them for twins. He never got the experience of helping to care for a younger sibling. Angela had been a natural, but her mother had given birth to twins when she was in high school, giving her plenty of experience at an age when it was actually useful.

Edward's rotation in pediatrics during med school had been nothing short of a disaster and he disliked taking care of the children that came into the ER. He never knew what to say to them, how to soothe them and make them feel better. Edward talked to them like they were just small adults which often resulted in funny looks and questioning scowls from the mothers that accompanied their children. He'd always hoped that would change when he became a father, and Angela had assured him he would figure it out.

Losing track of time as he remembered his life with Angela, Edward let out a long sigh and rose from the concrete bench when the tiny drops of rain began to fall on his forehead. His ass was numb and his neck was stiff from sitting for so long in one position. He moved over and lightly touched the tombstone, saying a silent goodbye before heading to his car.

/|P|\\

His mother dropped by on Saturday, unannounced, ruining his plans for the day. Edward wanted to protest, but he doubted she would agree that spending the day on the couch in his boxers, eating Cheetos and scratching his balls actually counted as _plans_. Though he knew his mother meant well, her visits usually left him feeling worse than before she showed up. Esme was constantly trying to make him feel better, yet her attempts only made him feel worse.

Edward was able to escape her, at least momentarily, expressing his need to take a shower. He was sure he smelled and he wasn't exactly comfortable chatting with his mother while he was sitting around in his underwear.

Standing in front of the mirror waiting for the water to heat up, Edward took notice of his stomach, mostly the pudgy little pocket of fat just beneath his belly button. He poked it with his fingers, watching it move and jiggle. It hadn't always been there, but in the days since its arrival, he hadn't really cared. He felt odd standing there, scrutinizing his naked form.

When Angela was alive, they liked to run. She always forced him out into the sunshine—or sometimes the rain. Angela loved to feel the warmth on her face, the sweat beading on her brow as she ran along the trails at the local park. Sometimes they would just jog around the neighborhood.

Edward had stopped his exercise routine during her illness, often too tired to do anything other than collapse into bed after spending long hours working and then caring for his ailing wife. After she died, he no longer cared what he looked like. But standing in front of the mirror, he realized he didn't like what he saw.

While the other ways he'd allowed himself to decline were visible to those around him, the fat around his middle wasn't, hidden beneath his clothes. His hair was long and shaggy, maybe a little bit greasy. He didn't take the time to shave most days, content to leave the scruff on his face. His clothes were no longer pressed and dry cleaned, instead wrinkled and worn too many times to count.

The bags under his eyes were the most noticeable, the dark purple sagging beneath the bright fluorescence of the bathroom. He poked at those too, trying to remember the last time he'd gotten a good night's sleep. Edward's rest was almost always fitful, tossing and turning throughout the nights. Sometimes he slept on the couch, just because he couldn't handle the pain of an empty bed.

When he really considered it, he realized that the last time he'd slept through the night was when he'd invited Bella to stay—well, not really invited, just sort of demanded. Edward wasn't sure if it was her presence or the amount of alcohol he'd drank that caused him to sleep so well, but he realized he missed that feeling. He wanted to be able to fall into his bed and not wake until the alarm sounded, wanted his nights to be restful, not haunted by a ghost.

Edward didn't resent Angela or her memory. He wanted to remember; he just didn't want to feel like his heart was being crushed. He loved that he still remembered so many things about her—the way she smelled, the little flecks of gold in her eyes, and the softness of her skin—but those memories were nearly debilitating in their intensity. Edward wanted to be able to smile when he remembered her, not feel the urge to hide away in the closet and cry.

Finally stepping into the shower, Edward rigidly moved through his routine, knowing his mother was waiting. Having taken notice of his poor appearance, he took the time to shave, even making an attempt to tame his unruly hair. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he moved back through the house to find his mother dusting the electronics in the living room. It looked like she'd vacuumed as well and he could faintly hear the hum of the washing machine.

"Mom, you don't have to do that," he said, reaching out to take the cloth from her hand.

"Oh Edward, you know I don't mind."

"I know you don't mind. _I_ mind." When he saw Esme's face fall, Edward felt worse than ever, knowing he'd hurt his mother's feelings when she was only trying to help. "Shit, Mom, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...I mean, I should be able to do this stuff for myself."

Slumping down into the sofa, Edward heaved out a loud sigh, resting his forehead in his hands. "I'm miserable," he mumbled, unable to look his mother in the eyes. He felt Esme sit down gingerly beside of him, her hand gently patting his knee as she waited.

"My life is so fucked up and I don't know how to fix it." He felt her squeeze his knee, a silent admonishment for his language. For all of her prying and constant urging for him to move on with his life, Edward knew his mother only wanted the best for him, that she wouldn't intentionally push him to do something he wasn't ready for.

"I think you need to start small," she said. "Maybe you aren't ready for dating or going back to your old job yet, but simple things you can do, like vacuuming the living room or doing the dishes. Baby steps, sweetie."

Edward reached over and wrapped his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

They spent the rest of the day together, trying to get his house back in order. Edward cleaned out the refrigerator and the cupboards, tossing away all of the expired food and rotten vegetables. He shoved the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and dumped in a bunch of detergent; he was sure he wasn't doing it correctly, but at least he was making an attempt.

That evening, when his mother drove away just before the sun had set, he pulled on his tennis shoes and jogged around the neighborhood. He only made it a few blocks before he had to turn around and come back, but it felt like an accomplishment and that put a smile on his face.

/|P|\\

The wheel on the cart was squeaky and annoying, but Bella refused to go back and get another. Not wanting to brave the grocery store alone, Edward had called her at the last minute, surprised when she readily agreed to meet him there.

Edward clutched the grocery list his mother had made tightly in his hand, marking off things as he found them and grabbing stuff that caught his eye. Most of the things she'd instructed him were simple meals that he could microwave or just throw into the oven. They were the kinds of things Angela had made, only this time Edward would be left to craft the meals on his own.

When they made it to the canned goods section, his eyes immediately searched for the bright orange cans. Edward began tossing them into the cart, wondering how many he'd need to get by for a month.

"What are doing?" Bella asked, wondering why there were suddenly twenty cans of processed spaghetti in the cart.

"I like Italian," Edward replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Beefaroni is _not_ Italian. I don't even think that stuff is made from real tomatoes. The sauce is technicolor orange."

"That's the best part. Well, besides the meatballs."

Bella shook her head and laughed, grabbing Edward's arm and pulling him down the aisle, away from his favorite food.

"When do you have an evening free?" she asked as they loaded groceries onto the conveyor belt. "Wednesday would be best for me."

"Ummm...yeah, Wednesday's fine," Edward replied, unsure about what that particular evening would be best for.

"I'll be over around six."

Edward wanted to question her motives, but instead found himself walking her to her beat-up, old truck and saying a hasty goodbye. He stood there watching her drive away, wondering what he'd gotten himself into this time, silently hoping it didn't involve alcohol.

When Bella arrived promptly at six on Wednesday night, he smiled and led her into his house, hoping she noticed the fresh pine smell and lack of clutter covering every surface. She grinned as she headed towards the kitchen, a canvas shopping bag hanging from her shoulder and a small box in her hands.

"Ready to cook dinner?" she asked, her eyes alight with mischief.

"I guess?" Edward replied, his answer sounding more like a question.

"Relax. It'll be fun, I promise." He wanted to remind her that the last time she'd claimed they'd have fun, he'd ended up drunk in a bar with Jacob shooting him evil glares. Instead, he gave a timid smile and waited to see what she had in store.

Edward stood by and watched as she unloaded the items from her bag, tossing a bright red piece of cloth in his direction. He'd never seen anyone besides his mother actually wear an apron in the kitchen, but he put in on without question, allowing Bella to take the lead in this endeavor. She pulled two large pots from the rack near the cook-top, instructing him to fill one with water.

Bella placed the other pot on the stove and turned lit the flame beneath it. She reached for a jar that looked like marinara sauce, but it wasn't from the grocery store. After popping open the lid, she stuck it under Edward's nose, allowing him to smell the fresh herbs and tomato.

"I made it last night," she said. "I didn't think you'd be ready for that step yet."

Edward couldn't hide the panic in his eyes when she began to dump flour onto his freshly-wiped counter. She made a well in the middle of the mound, cracking a few eggs into it and adding salt.

"Okay, Edward, you're up."

Approaching the counter slowly, Edward wasn't sure what she meant for him to do. He only ever mixed things with a spoon, inside of a bowl. He'd never met anyone that dumped ingredients onto the counter. Before he had a chance to object, she grabbed both of his hands and stuck them into the mixture, using her own fingers to guide him.

Edward's shoulders tensed momentarily as he felt her standing behind him, pressed against his back, their hands working together in unison. She was soft and warm like a woman should be, close enough that he could smell her shampoo. He forced the memories of Angela that threatened to assault him to the back of his mind, not wanting to ruin his time with Bella.

Once the flour and eggs began to come together, Bella pulled away, instructing him to knead the ingredients into a ball. His apprehension and uneasiness began to fade as the dough began to take shape. A genuine smile stretched across Edward's face as Bella stood nearby, laughing and cheering him on.

Edward pulled his flour covered hands away, victorious. Bella instructed him to cut the dough into four balls as she pulled a metal contraption from the box she'd brought over. She clamped the small device to the counter and showed Edward how to roll the dough through.

Once the dough was flattened and cut into long strips of pasta, Edward dropped it into the pot of boiling water, followed by a liberal handful of salt. Less than ten minutes later, dinner was ready. Bella cut off hunks of the bread while Edward opened a bottle of wine.

Carrying everything into the dining room, they sat down to share the meal they'd made. Edward was pleasantly surprised that the simple process had created something so delicious.

Once they were finished eating, Bella packed the leftovers away for Edward's lunch the following day. She helped him load the dishes into the dishwasher and then, noting the late hour, bid him goodnight. Edward followed her to the door, wondering when he'd see her again.

"Did you maybe want to do something this weekend?" he asked, nervously rubbing his hand across his forehead.

"Sure. How about Saturday? I have a rare day off. We should hang out at my place. I'll text you the address."

With another smile and wave, Edward watched her walk to her truck, startled by the loud noises it made when she started it up. Heading back inside, he couldn't wipe the smile off of his face. He'd had a fun evening with a new friend, doing something simple and easy. Maybe his mother was right.

* * *

**A/N:** Just wanted to address a couple of things that were mentioned in reviews.

The story will only be told from Edward's POV, though I wouldn't rule out Bella outtakes later on. I realize that she's a bit of a mystery right now, but that's because Edward doesn't know her very well either. They're just getting to know one another. More will be revealed about her very soon.

Dialogue will continue to be limited. Writing lots of dialogue just isn't my style, and this story is about Edward, so a lot of it will be his internal thoughts and feelings.

Thanks for all of the alerts and reviews. I really appreciate them!


	4. Four

**Congrats to my usual beta, Alby Mangroves, on the birth of her beautiful baby girl. In her absence this week, Kalimando, famouslyso, and Ceci the Great stepped in to catch my mistakes. Thanks, ladies.  
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Listening to the directions from his GPS, Edward navigated the busy city streets, making his way from his sister's house towards Bella's. Rosalie and Emmett had just moved into a neighborhood Edward was unfamiliar with and he always got turned around when trying to navigate the way back to his side of town.

He'd spent the morning having breakfast with his family, allowing Rosalie the chance to show off her new home. It was in a more upscale area, with perfectly manicured lawns and iron gates. Edward hated the pretentious nature of it all, but it perfectly suited his sister. She'd always been a little vain, obsessed with outward appearances and the image she portrayed to those around her.

Edward had never really cared much about his place in society. Though he'd grown up in a fairly wealthy family, his parents had always remained humble and modest. They lived in a nice home, but in a middle-class neighborhood. Edward's father was a doctor, but his mother had stayed at home to care for her children. They'd gone to public school and immersed themselves in the same activities as their classmates—baseball and cheerleading, activities at the local rec center on weekends.

But where Edward had enjoyed blending in with those around him, Rosalie had been born to stand out. With her flaxen hair and bright blue eyes, she became part of the high school elite—head cheerleader, prom queen, president of the student council. Edward was on the baseball team, but he spent more time on the bench than he did on the field, and being president of the science club wasn't exactly a position that brought immense popularity.

When the time came to go to college, Rosalie was not the least bit interested, but she knew her parents would be disappointed if she chose not to attend, so she enrolled in a local community college. She barely lasted two semesters. Much to their parent's chagrin, she was married to Emmett McCarty before she even turned nineteen. Their parents adored Emmett but were concerned that Rosalie was too young to enter into that sort of commitment; she'd always been a little flighty. She'd proven them wrong as the years passed, however, unwavering in her devotion to her husband. Emmett was the service manager at a car dealership owned by his father, a position which allowed Rosalie to maintain the life she felt she deserved.

Opposite of Rosalie, Edward relished the opportunity to continue his education and was accepted into several Ivy League institutions. In the end, however, he couldn't imagine the thought of being so far away from his family, so he enrolled in a university in the city. It wasn't prestigious by any means, but Edward thought that maybe after four years there, he'd be ready to move on to a more well-known medical school. Of course, by the time college graduation came along, he was already married to Angela. Leaving was the furthest thing from either of their minds, so he stayed once again.

Though they were close, Rosalie's vanity and sometimes selfish nature had always been a point of contention between her and Edward. She didn't understand why he wanted to save the money in his meager trust fund for his future children, why he didn't want a big home and expensive items to fill it. He and Angela had always been more economical, even when their careers had stabilized and they had more free money. They did quite a bit of traveling and bought new cars, but they weren't interested in spending money just for the sake of doing so.

Now that Angela was gone, Rosalie encouraged Edward to do things he wasn't comfortable with. She thought he should sell his home and buy a condo or an apartment in a fancy high-rise. He had considered selling his house to move into some place smaller, but he wasn't quite ready to part with the memories of Angela that were still etched in every corner there.

Rosalie urged him to take frivolous vacations and waste money on things he thought were unneeded and useless, like imported sports cars and expensive suits. He didn't need those things. In fact, he felt as if he needed less. Since Angela's death, he'd saved more, no longer going on vacations or buying anything new. He just didn't care about material things.

Edward shook the thoughts of his sister from his head as he finally entered a familiar part of the city. Switching off his GPS and turning on the radio, he began to make his way towards the address Bella had given him.

Pulling into a space along the street, Edward double-checked the bold, black numbers on the front of the gray building, making sure that he was in the correct place. Grabbing his cell phone and locking his car, Edward headed for the entrance. Though Bella had initially said her day would be completely clear, she'd called him earlier that morning to let him know that she'd be in the lower level of the building, doing a last minute appointment. Her apartment was above her studio.

Looking at the door, Edward admired the elegant swan screened onto the glass. It was the same image that Bella had engraved on her flask. Swan Studios was written directly beneath in an elegant script. Having met Bella at the gallery, Edward began to wonder what sort of artist she was. They'd never really spoken about their jobs, mostly because it wasn't a subject Edward was comfortable with. His current job was mundane and he didn't like to talk about his past as a doctor.

Entering the building, Edward felt his chest begin to tighten as he took notice of all the portraits hanging on the walls. There were various sizes in non-matching frames, capturing brief moments in time for many different subjects. There were weddings and birthdays, new babies and smiling faces. He felt dizzy, his breathing coming in shallow pants, when he felt a presence beside him.

"Sir, are you okay?" a high-pitched voice asked.

Edward wiped the sweat from his brow and ran his fingers through his hair, hating the clammy feeling on his forehead.

"Fine. I'm fine," he replied, unsure as to whether he was trying to convince himself or the woman standing next to him. "I'm here to see Bella."

"Oh! You must be Edward. It'll be just a few more minutes. She's finishing up a session with a client. Why don't you have a seat and I'll get you something to drink."

He didn't feel like arguing as he felt he woman's hand on his back, her face marred with concern. She led him to a comfy-looking chair in the corner before disappearing down a long hallway. Edward leaned over and placed his head between his knees, trying to calm himself down. He hadn't had this sort of reaction in over a year; he thought he'd gotten over the panic attacks.

The woman returned with a bottle of water and a mini muffin, shoving them both into Edward's shaking hands. Edward finally allowed himself a good look at her, taking in her bizarre appearance. Her hair was an unnatural shade of black, sticking out in choppy spikes all over her head. Her lip was pierced and he could just see the edges of a tattoo peeking out along the collar of her shirt. Her pantyhose were ripped and she wasn't wearing any pants, just an oversized shirt that hit her mid-thigh.

"I'm Alice," she said, sticking her hand out to shake. "I'm Bella's assistant. Well, at least until I finish art school."

Edward hummed and shook his head in agreement as the woman continued to prattle on. His ears were ringing and he was still feeling light-headed. He gulped the water down greedily and ate the muffin in two bites, hoping to slow the rolling in his stomach. Images of Angela kept popping into his mind, but he fought them away, reciting random medical terminology in his head.

He was brought out of his stupor by the sound of a little boy laughing. Moments later, a family emerged from the hallway, the father carrying the boy on his shoulders. The mother was holding an infant, a baby girl with a giant pink bow tied around her head. Seeing the joy on their faces, Edward felt a pang of jealousy in his gut.

"You can go on back. Bella's in the room at the end of the hall," Alice said, reaching out to pat him gently on the forearm. Edward merely nodded in her direction, walking on wobbly legs down the long corridor.

_Bella was a photographer._

The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, even though he'd met her at the gallery. He'd just assumed that she was a painter or a sculptor. He didn't recall seeing any photographs on the walls that night, but if he were being honest, he really hadn't been paying attention. The tight feeling in his chest grew as he stumbled down the corridor, stopping in the doorway of the large space in the back.

Bella had her back to him, bent over an oversized case as she packed away her lenses. Her lighting umbrellas were still set up, the heat from the lamps shining down on the white backdrop in front of them. Edward felt the sweat gathering on the back of his neck and trickling down his back. He gripped the edge of the door frame as his vision began to blur.

"Edward? Are you okay?" Bella asked as she turned to face him, quickly abandoning her task and rushing to his side. He felt her place his arm around her shoulder as she worked to drag him over to a sofa in the corner. He slumped down on it, unable to hear what she was saying. He felt like he was underwater, the images around him blurry and unclear.

Closing his eyes, he heard the sounds of a camera shutter clicking in rapid succession and then Angela's laugh. She'd saved for months for that new camera, taking on extra sessions and offering a discount on prints—anything to draw in more business. They'd had the money to buy it, but she wanted the satisfaction of knowing that she'd worked for it, that she'd earned it.

When she'd finally saved up the nearly ten thousand dollars she needed, they'd driven across town on a hazy Saturday morning to her favorite camera shop. They'd arrived just as Mr. Banner was opening up the store, the cold weather causing his hands to stiffen and fumble with the key. Angela stood patiently beside of Edward, waiting for the old man to unlock the door, smiling in anticipation.

Angela could have gotten the camera cheaper by ordering online or even going to a larger retailer in the city, but she was loyal to the Banners and their camera shop. She'd often spend hours in their store, discussing lenses and lighting, exposures and camera settings with Mr. Banner. He was a sweet old man and it was easy to see why Angela was so attached to both him and his wife. They treated each of their customers as if they were family.

Edward would never forget the bright smile that lit up Angela's face when Mr. Banner handed her the box with her camera inside. With shaking hands, she'd pulled the body out and attached her favorite lens. She snapped a few photos inside the store, grinning each time the shutter would click. She'd been anxious to get back home and try out her new toy, forcing Edward to pose in the backyard and finally in the spare room they'd converted into a tiny studio.

For what seemed like hours, he had sat there uncomfortably, stiff and unsure. Angela had tried to get him to lighten up and not be so serious, but he was never one to enjoy having his photo taken. Annoyed with him, she'd pulled out her wireless remote, walking towards him as she activated the shutter from afar. The camera continued to flash as she sat on his lap and rested her knees on either side of his waist.

_Click. Flash. Click. Flash._

One hand remained on the remote and the other fingered the hair along the nape of his neck. She kissed him lightly on the lips, her free hand moving to linger on the top button of his shirt. He sat there still as a statue, too shocked to move.

"Relax," she whispered in his ear, just as the she'd gotten the first button undone. Her lips continued to linger on his skin as she worked the rest of the buttons free. His hands moved to wrap around her waist, finding their way beneath the hem of her shirt, rubbing along the soft skin of her back.

_Click. Flash. Click. Flash._

Edward closed his eyes as she gently pushed on his chest, urging him to lie back on the chaise lounge they were perched upon. He complied, losing himself in the feeling of her mouth moving down his torso, her hands gently caressing his skin. Concentrating on the woman in front of him and not the camera that was documenting their every move, Edward slowly helped Angela remove their clothes one by one, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor.

He reveled in the feeling of sliding inside her, took pleasure in the pain as her nails scratched down his bare back. There were grunts and moans, soft words and whispers as the camera continued to immortalize their movements.

_Click. Flash. Click. Flash._

"Edward. Edward," he heard a soft voice whisper as fingers gently caressed his cheek. Edward reached up and held the hand in his own, turning to place a soft kiss against her palm. But when he opened his eyes, expecting to see tanned skin and dark-framed glasses, he instead was met with worried brown eyes and pale, porcelain skin.

"I'm sorry," he managed to stutter out as he dropped Bella's hand like he'd been burned. "I thought...I'm sorry." He shook his head, trying to shake the blurring images from his mind.

"It's okay. Are _you_ okay?" Bella asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm fine. I just...I need to get out of here." Standing far too quickly, Edward stumbled as the room began to spin. He reached out to grab the arm of the sofa, hoping to steady his swaying body.

"Okay. Let's just—we can go out the back." Bella once again slung Edward's arm across her shoulder, leading him towards the exit in the back of the studio. Edward didn't question her as she led him to her car, opening the door and helping him slide inside. He didn't even bother to protest when she reached across his body to buckle the seat belt.

The car was silent as Bella drove further away from the center of the city. Edward watched the houses grow sparser outside the window, his forehead pressed against the glass. It was only mid-afternoon, but he felt tired and numb, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a warm bed and allow the memories of Angela to play out behind his eyelids.

When the car finally pulled to a stop and Bella turned off the engine, Edward looked around and realized she hadn't taken him home. Instead, it looked as if they were at a park just outside the city.

"I come here sometimes when I'm feeling claustrophobic or upset or just need a break. I thought we could just sit and hang out for a while."

Edward merely nodded his head and exited the car, falling in step beside Bella as she walked through the grass and moved towards the tree line. When he felt her hand slide into his, he gave her a quick glance and he was met with a timid smile. Edward tried to return the expression but was sure his grin wasn't very convincing.

Bella wandered a few yards into the trees, stopping beneath the shade of a large hemlock. She settled down in the grass with ease, gazing out across the expanse of the park. Edward stood there for a moment, not realizing they'd reached their destination until she patted the ground beside her, motioning for him to sit down.

He sighed loudly as he leaned against the tree, watching the kids running and playing in the grass, their innocence unspoiled. Edward longed for carefree smiles and worry-free days. He couldn't even remember the last truly good day he'd had; he suspected it was before Angela had fallen ill.

"I used to date Jacob," Bella blurted out. "Or at least I tried to. Our fathers are best friends and we've known each other since we were in diapers. I guess I was lonely and he was there and he wanted me. So I just thought I could learn to love him _that way_. But I just couldn't and he's _so_ angry."

Edward reached over and squeezed Bella's thigh, then placed his hand on her leg, palm upturned. He wasn't ready to talk about himself, but he was willing to listen, hoping his gesture would encourage her to continue. She placed her hand in his and exhaled a loud breath before she started talking again.

"On our first date, he told me he loved me, that he always had. I had barely even let him kiss me and he was already planning out our whole life, talking about houses and marriage and babies, all these things I wasn't even sure I wanted, especially not with him.

"I tried, you know? I thought I could force it, but I didn't feel any of the things he was feeling. It lasted less than a month and almost completely destroyed our friendship. He says its fine now, that he can handle it, but whenever there's another guy around..."

"That's why he was so hostile that night, at his bar?" Edward croaked, his throat dry and tight.

"Yes. I probably shouldn't have taken you there, but I wanted to go somewhere I'd feel safe. I didn't know you that well then and he keeps insisting he's over it. I thought it would be okay because we're just friends. It's not like I was taking a date there, flaunting a relationship in front of him.

"He just makes me so mad. Every time we're alone, things spiral out of control and we both end up saying things we don't mean. I don't even think he really loves me. It hurts, but I'm starting to think that I need to just cut him out of my life completely. The friendship we used to have is gone anyway."

The silence lingered between them. Edward didn't feel like she was trying to solicit his advice, just wanting to share a bit of herself. He contemplated what he wanted to say, knowing he was obligated to reciprocate, but also aware that he wasn't ready to talk about Angela.

"I used to be a doctor," he said, pulling up blades of grass in frustration.

Bella turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Used to be?"

"I stopped practicing three years ago. It was supposed to be temporary, just a short break, but I could never bring myself to go back."

Feeling some of the pressure lift from his chest, Edward talked about his disillusionment with medicine, the months when he sat inside his home doing nothing, watching the days pass him by. He told Bella about how his father had tried to force his hand, how he'd gotten him the job at the non-profit. Edward told her that he hated it, but was too scared to return to his old position at the hospital.

He didn't tell her what the main catalyst for his career change was and she didn't ask, somehow sensing that he'd reveal the missing pieces of the puzzle when he was ready. The day had been emotionally draining and he knew he couldn't handle yet another breakdown that would surely be caused by addressing the elephant in the room.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the children playing in the park, smiling as he watched a chubby little boy chasing a tiny, hairy dog through the grass, shrieking and laughing every time the dog would evade him. Finally, the boy collapsed in the grass, giggling loudly as the dog sidled up and licked his face.

/|P|\\

After a few hours at the park, the pair returned to retrieve Edward's car, and then decided to spend the evening together at his house. Though Bella's studio was separate from her apartment, he imagined she was like most photographers and probably had cameras and photos and equipment tossed about her living space. He wasn't ready to deal with that twice in one day, so he suggested they order take-out and watch bad movies on cable.

TBS was airing a string of cheesy comedies, which suited them both just fine. They sat side by side on the sofa, the tension and stress of the day melting away with each raunchy joke and bumbling mishap. By the end of the second movie, they were chatting away through the films that played, making fun of the ridiculous plots and outlandish personalities of the main characters.

Sometime during the third movie, Bella yawned loudly and cuddled into Edward's side. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to his body. The action seemed so natural; Edward realized that he'd missed that sort of closeness in his life. Since Angela's death, he'd remained closed off and distant, trying to save himself from more heartache. He wasn't sure if he was ready to jump wholeheartedly into a romantic relationship, but he was learning to savor the close friendship he was cultivating with Bella.

He enjoyed the simple ease with which they'd gotten to know one another, the comfortableness between them. Edward knew that at some point, he'd have to reveal the truth of his past to her, but Bella would never push him to do so. It was one of the things he liked most about her. She allowed him to have his space, and unlike his family, didn't try to force him into conversations and situations he wasn't ready to deal with.

As the credits rolled on the final movie, Edward gently roused Bella from her slumber. It was after three in the morning, so he decided it would be best just to let her stay. He urged her down the hallway as she mumbled and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, immediately heading for the guest bathroom. He left her there to complete her nightly routine, knowing he'd left a spare toothbrush and other items she'd need on the counter.

Edward moved into the master, hastily brushing his teeth and throwing on a pair of pajamas. When he returned to the other bedroom, Bella was sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his old t-shirts, once again foregoing the bottoms he'd left out for her. She smiled as she moved to her side of the bed and Edward did the same. Unlike the last time they had spent the night together, however, this time Bella didn't hesitate to scoot closer to him in the bed. She wrapped an arm around his waist and rested her head upon his chest.

Closing his eyes, Edward imagined a different body in Bella's place. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop from thinking about Angela. He rested his hand on Bella's forearm, gently stroking her skin. His fingers began to tingle as he remembered his wife; he could feel the warmth radiating up and into his chest. He remembered the nights they would lie in bed together in much the same way, the whispered conversations about their hopes and dreams for the future.

He couldn't help the pang of guilt he felt. He'd never been able to share his bed and get close to another woman since Angela had passed away, feeling as though he was betraying her memory. The guilt Edward felt with Bella, however, was because he was thinking of his wife while lying in bed with her. Though Bella would never know, he felt as if she was the one being betrayed. There was nothing romantic about their interactions, but there was a certain intimacy there. Edward wasn't sure how to handle his conflicting emotions, so he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.

/|P|\\

It was nearly noon by the time Bella and Edward woke the next morning. Bella was practically lying on top of him, her legs intertwined with his and her arms wrapped tightly around his torso. She smiled sleepily at Edward before pulling away, wiping the sleep from her eyes and brushing her hair back from her face. She offered to start the coffee and Edward thanked her, stopping off at the bathroom before following her into the kitchen.

Edward smiled as he watched her opening the pantry and the refrigerator, pleasantly surprised to see that there were actual groceries to be found. He pushed her out of the kitchen once she'd completed her snooping and gotten a cup of coffee, wanting to make breakfast on his own. Once he'd completed the simple scrambled eggs and toast, Edward headed down the hallway and into the living room to find Bella.

He stopped just before entering the room, taking just a moment to admire the woman standing in front of him. The afternoon sunshine was filtering in through the window, illuminating the bits of red in her hair. She was turned away from him, wearing his shirt and a pair of socks pulled up to mid-calf. Bella's hair was ratty and tangled, but he still thought she looked beautiful.

His eyes lingered on the long, thin legs that were exposed to him, and Edward wondered if the skin of her thighs was as soft as it looked. Though he knew he'd never touch her that way, the thoughts still pushed forward in his mind. For the first time, he imagined Bella as something other than just his friend, and that thought scared him.

Wanting to get away from the awkward feelings that he was suddenly having, Edward moved closer to Bella, quiet in his approach. He realized she had something in her hands as he got closer. His heart seized when noticed the worn wooden frame. He knew she must have found it while looking through the books that were haphazardly placed upon the shelves in the far corner of the room. It was the only picture of Angela that he hadn't packed away, and even so, he kept it hidden from view.

Edward kept the photo—a shot of him and Angela on their wedding day—tucked between two old books. He wanted it somewhere he could pull it out easily and look at it when he needed, but he didn't like the constant reminder of it sitting upon the shelf, where his eyes might accidentally catch a glimpse of it without meaning to do so. He wasn't yet at a place where he could look at pictures of her without getting emotional.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to stand closer to Bella, gazing at the photo over her shoulder.

"Who is she?" Bella whispered.

"My wife."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to anyone that's still interested and bothering to read this story. My apologies for the epic update fail. I've had the worst case of writer's block. Chapters will post regularly from this point forward, probably two weeks apart until the holidays are over.

Be sure to check out the Pick a Pic O/S Contest, a collaboration between TwiFicPics and FanFiction Writing Challenges. It's a different sort of contest, with lots of banners already submitted. We just need writers to choose one and start writing. Information can be found at fanfiction-challenges(.)blogspot(.)com

And if you're looking for fic recs, Newton's Outficcers is back and posting. We're also looking for new staff, so hop on over and check us out. newtonsoutficcers(.)com


	5. Five

**Thanks to shoefreak37, Alby Mangroves, and happymelt for helping me push through and write this chapter.**

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"_Who is she?" Bella whispered._

"_My wife."_

Edward saw the flash in Bella's eyes, her gaze quickly moving from the photo to take in the room around them. She was seeing things from a different perspective, looking for the subtle touches of a woman in his home. There were none to be found; they'd all been boxed away, collecting dust in the attic.

He stepped closer and gently took the frame from Bella's hands. His finger moved to the glass, reverently tracing the lines and angles of Angela's face—the arch of her brows, the gentle slope of her nose, the bow of her lips. The photo had been cropped close, so that only their faces were visible in the frame. Edward's lips were pressed against Angela's temple, and she had her eyes closed, a sweet smile playing upon her lips.

They'd been so happy that day.

After getting engaged, they'd just wanted to get married as soon as possible. Edward would have marched right down to city hall and gotten married that very day, but he knew Angela deserved more. She wanted her father to walk her down the aisle, to marry in the church where he had been pastor for years, the church where she had grown up. And she wanted the big princess dress, even though it wasn't exactly fitting for the tiny church.

They shared their celebration with nearly a hundred of their closest family and friends, all crammed within the small sanctuary. It was hot and sticky that day, and Edward remembered feeling the sweat trickle down his back, the clammy feeling of his palms as he anxiously awaited his bride. Other men might have had doubts or struggles with cold feet, but Edward felt as though his toes were on fire. He couldn't stand still, waiting for the ceremony to begin, for Angela to be legally bound to him.

"We were so young," he mused, noticing the absence of the lines he had grown used to seeing in the mirror each day. Angela's face looked the same as it always would, perfectly preserved. He'd never get to see the effects that time would have on her body, never watch her dark hair turn to gray, never hold her wrinkled hand within his own.

He'd imagined them growing old together, raising their children and retiring to the suburbs. The vision of them sitting on the porch, rocking while their grandchildren played in the yard filtered into his mind; he could see himself old and wrinkled, but Angela remained the same, her face untouched by time. He'd never have any of those things he'd wished for—at least not with Angela.

"We thought nothing could touch us, that we had all the time in the world..." Edward trailed off, lost in the sea of memories from the day they wed: seeing Angela walking down the aisle, their first kiss as husband and wife, first dance. "She died three years ago."

"She's beautiful," Bella whispered, stepping closer to place her hand on Edward's forearm.

He closed his eyes to will back the tears, struggling to suck air into his lungs. Some days he felt okay, but there were other days when the pain still felt so fresh, as if she'd been gone for days instead of years.

Bella didn't offer any platitudes about how sorry she was, how everything would be okay, or how he'd get through it. She just moved closer and pressed her body against Edward's, her arms snaking around his waist, surrounding him in comfort. "What happened to her?"

"Cancer."

They stood in silence for several moments, Edward trying to decide how much he was willing to share, how much he was _ready_ to share. The memories were rushing back in a flood, little moments he'd forgotten or pushed to the back of his mind. With one last look at Angela's face, he disentangled himself from Bella's embrace, reaching to put the frame back on the shelf, gently tucking it back in between two of Angela's favorite books.

"Breakfast is getting cold," he said, turning to go back into the kitchen.

/|P|\\

They sat side-by-side at the breakfast bar, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only sound in the room. Edward couldn't look at Bella. He didn't want to see the questions in her eyes, the sadness on her face. He hated that look—the look of sorrow and pity. He'd seen it on the faces of his friends and family since long before Angela passed away. It was one of the reasons he'd enjoyed his friendship with Bella so much. She treated him like a human being, not someone broken beyond repair. But knowing at least part of the truth, he was sure she'd be looking at him that same way too.

Turning in her direction, Edward realized that Bella had barely touched her food. She was just pushing it around with her fork, her hair hanging around her face and hiding her expressions from him. Edward reached out and tucked the wayward strands behind her ear, hoping that she'd look at him.

As their eyes met, she gave him a tentative smile. A flurry of emotions were visible in her eyes, but there was no pity, only compassion and kindness. The tightness Edward felt in his chest loosened just a fraction, and he felt guilt bubble up in his stomach. He should have known Bella would be different; she was unlike anyone else he had ever known.

Eventually, they tossed their cold eggs into the trash and Bella offered to clean-up. While she got the kitchen back into order, Edward moved back into the living room, slumping down onto the couch. It was still early in the morning, yet he already felt tired and weighed down. He placed his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands. Closing his eyes, he thought about Angela once more.

He remembered the belated honeymoon they'd taken for their five year anniversary. They had school and jobs they couldn't afford to miss, so taking one immediately after their wedding had been impossible, even when his parents offered to pay for it. Instead, they'd spent two nights in a downtown hotel, barely leaving the bed. The only time they got dressed—and even then, it was just a hastily thrown on robe—was to answer the door for room service.

For their first big milestone, Edward plotted and planned their escape for months. He was still knee deep in his residency, but he took on extra shifts in the previous months, switched around with other interns, and did everything he could to make sure he could have a week free. Angela had been working just as hard, finally moving her studio from their home and into a small storefront just a few blocks away. She deserved a comfortable vacation as well.

He'd really wanted to whisk her away to some foreign island; she'd always loved the beach. Angela was content, however, not to stray too far. She didn't want to lose a lot of time traveling, so they flew to California instead. They rented a convertible and explored the Napa Valley, touring wineries during the day and spending their nights in whatever quaint little bed and breakfast they happened upon.

Edward remembered her smile, the giggles that would escape her mouth as he sped down the highway, her hair whipping in the wind. She would hold his hand as he drove, though sometimes her fingers would stray. More than once, they pulled off on a deserted stretch of road, making use of the car's cramped back seat.

Rubbing his fingers across his eyes, Edward forced the memories away and turned on the tv, mindlessly flipping through the cable channels. When nothing caught his eye, he flipped it off in a huff, slamming the remote control down on the coffee table. He was annoyed with himself, angered by the stagnant state he'd allowed himself to exist in following Angela's death. He kept saying he wanted to move on, that he wanted to get his life back, but he'd done nothing to make that happen.

He didn't even notice Bella walk in until she was by his side. She sat so close their thighs were touching, her hand reaching out to rub his back in comfort. He leaned back and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, allowing her to curl into his side. She wrapped both arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder.

"My mom died when I was twelve," she whispered.

"That's pretty much the worst age for a girl not to have her mother. I was at this awkward, in-between stage and my dad just had no clue what to do with me. So he took me fishing, to baseball games, treated me like the son he never had."

Edward knew what she was doing. This was how she would gently urge him to open up, by sharing something personal about herself. He placed a kiss in her hair, urging her to continue.

"I pretended to be okay because I didn't want to upset my dad. I read a lot, tried to pretend my life was like the fantasies in my books. But in bed, when I was alone, I'd cry myself to sleep every night. I was sixteen before my dad realized there was something wrong. He wasn't a bad father—he was just too caught up in his own grief to notice mine."

Edward thought about the strength that Bella possessed. As an adult, he still relied on his parents in many ways, clung to them when things were difficult. He would have never gotten through college and medical school without their support, never survived the death of his wife. He couldn't imagine either of them not being in his life, but especially not both of them. Bella's father might have been present when she was growing up, but he obviously wasn't there for his daughter, wasn't attentive to her needs.

He wondered how she'd been able to overcome her grief; she was well-adjusted and happy. She didn't let her past consume her life, not like Edward had allowed Angela's death to consume his. He felt closer to her in that moment. Even though their situations were vastly different, there was still a common thread. They'd both known the pain of losing someone they loved.

"You don't hide so well, Edward. People notice. _I _noticed. I want to be your friend, but I don't know how to help."

"Just be here, be you," he whispered, pulling her tighter into his chest.

They sat there for a long time, just holding onto one another, listening to the clock on the wall tick down the seconds. When Bella finally pulled away, Edward realized that his shirt was wet and there were tears staining her cheeks.

"Sorry," she whispered, giving him a tight smile.

Edward reached forward and cupped her cheeks with his hands, using his thumbs to brush the tears away. Looking into Bella's eyes, he felt an odd tightening in his stomach—a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. It was completely unexpected, but not unwelcome. Her eyes conveyed her honesty and kindness, the gentle sweetness with which she handled his sadness. He licked his lips unconsciously, entertaining the images that filtered into his head.

_What would it be like to kiss her? _

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there for just a few moments. Her skin was soft and smelled like lavender.

/|P|\\

Brunch with his family was much the same as it always was, but Edward found himself more distracted than usual. As the chatter of conversation hummed around him, he was lost in his own head. He thought about Bella, about Angela, and the conflicting emotions that welled up deep within his gut. He still loved his wife—would always love his wife—but he knew that it was time. He wasn't sure how to start moving on, but he was determined to try.

His day with Bella had changed his mind about what he was capable of. He'd always assumed that Angela was it for him, that there could never be another. But that little twinge he'd felt while looking into Bella's eyes made him wonder..._what if?_

The sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood flooring of the restaurant pulled his attention from his thoughts, and Edward looked up to see his mother rising from her seat. She was moving to embrace a tall, willowy woman with tanned skin and bleached out hair. Edward noted the ease and familiarity between them, the hearty hugs that they exchanged. He knew where this was headed and immediately felt trapped, like an animal in a cage.

"Edward, this is Lauren, Mrs. Mallory's daughter. She just moved back into town. I think the two of you might have gone to high school together."

Edward gave a half-hearted smile and reached out to shake the woman's hand. Recognition dawned as he studied her face. They had gone to high school together, but Lauren wasn't the sort of girl that would have given him a second look during those years. She was pretty and popular, and if his memory was correct, she dated Mike Newton, the captain of the football team.

"Nice to see you again, Lauren," he said, trying to be polite. Though he knew what his mother was trying to do, and even though his heart wasn't in it, there was no reason to make Lauren feel uncomfortable. She couldn't have known that this was a setup. "What brings you back to the area?"

"Ummm...divorce. I just got back into town a couple of weeks ago. Things are a lot different. I hadn't been back in years."

The rest of the conversation was stilted and awkward, though Rosalie jumped right in and tried to pick up the slack. It made sense. She and Lauren seemed similar in many ways. Edward tried to follow what was being said, but he found his thoughts drifting once more.

He thought about the nights he and Bella had spent together, the platonic embraces and cuddling they'd engaged in. Without thoughts of Angela to cloud his memories, he considered how it felt to have Bella's head resting upon his chest, her legs intertwined with his. He thought about his arms around her waist, his hands resting on the small of her back. Edward relished the comfort he felt with Bella near, the sense of peace she brought into his stormy existence.

He didn't even realize the meal was over and everyone was leaving until he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

"How about we go for a walk?"

/|P|\\

Edward walked slowly and shuffled his feet along the concrete, like a sullen teen that was about to be grounded. Talks with his father rarely ended well. He was expecting pressure and accusations, disappointment and awkwardness. Edward was surprised by the first words that came from his father's mouth.

"I'm worried about you, son."

They settled onto a bench in the center of the local park, situated near the fountain. Edward stared straight ahead, watching the water trickling down, unsure how to take his father's confession. Though Carlisle had often expressed concern over him, Edward had never noticed such worry etched onto his face. Maybe that look had always been there and he'd just been too consumed with his grief to see it, but looking at his father, he couldn't simply brush Carlisle's concerns away as he always had. There was no reason to lie and say he was fine; everyone knew it wasn't true.

"Things...aren't good," Edward finally managed to choke out. "I mean, sometimes I feel okay, but most of the time, I just...don't. And I don't know how to _not_ feel that way."

"Have you thought about talking to someone? A professional?"

It was a topic that had been broached before, but one Edward had always been hesitant to accept. He didn't want to hash out his life for someone to analyze and pick apart. He didn't want to be forced to talk about the ache in his chest, the pain of losing his wife. Other people lost their partners and got through it without therapy or medication; why couldn't he do the same?

He wanted to shrug off the possibility, dismiss his father's suggestion. But then he remembered Bella, and he knew he needed to be honest. Things would never get better if he wasn't honest with his family, his friends, but most importantly himself.

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe."

"I have some phone numbers, some different professionals you could give a try."

"That's probably...yeah. I–I had a panic attack. I haven't felt like that in so long. I went to see my friend and I didn't realize she was a photographer and I just couldn't control my reaction. I shouldn't feel like that after this long, right?"

"Edward, there's no timetable for your grief, no right or wrong way to deal with it. The problem is that you haven't been dealing with it at all, just avoiding. You have to want to feel better, to try."

Exhaling a loud breath, Edward slumped over, resting his elbows on his knees. His pushed against his eyelids with the palms of his hands until he saw stars, still struggling with this decision. It felt like a make-or-break moment and he knew that whatever he chose would determine his future.

"Okay. I'll try."

With those three words, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew this was the first step in a long road, but he felt resolute and determined. It was time.

Carlisle reached over and clapped him on the back and then squeezed his neck. It was as close to showing affection as the two men had gotten in a long time. "Come on. I should have that list of numbers in the car."

/|P|\\

The waiting room was bland and boring, everything colored in complimentary shades of beige. The metal legs of the chair squeaked against the worn linoleum as Edward fidgeted in his chair. He chewed on his lip, ran his fingers through his hair, and thumbed through the outdated magazines laying on the table. The only other occupant of the small room was an elderly gentleman who seemed more than annoyed by Edward's constant motion; he would stare at Edward every time he made a noise.

Finally, a petite woman in dress slacks and a dark-colored shirt emerged from behind the wooden door.

"Edward Cullen."

Edward stood and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs before following her through the door and down the hallway. The room he was brought to was still bland, but it emitted a little more warmth than the waiting area. The walls and floors were still nearly the same shade, but there was some darker wood to break up the monotony. Edward took a seat facing the window, watching the clouds roll past as he waited for the doctor to appear.

Therapy had been suggested by Angela when she was beginning to decline. Edward had scoffed and told her that he didn't need help, that he was coping just fine. He knew she could see right through him, but he refused to acknowledge what he saw as his weakness. When she passed away, his parents had once again made mention of it, but he blew them off as well. He told his father he feared the ramifications it might have on his career; he should have been more concerned about the problems it would cause in his everyday life.

The doctor finally entered, a portly man with a receding hairline and a suit that had seen better days. His shoes were scuffed, and Edward could smell the scent of pipe tobacco as he passed, making his way to a worn leather chair positioned behind the desk. Edward could feel the tension radiating through his body as the man started up his recorder and opened the folder on his desk; the doctor was ready for the session to begin.

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**A/N: **Writer's block is still an issue for me, so no promises on how soon the next chapter will be out, but I'm trying. Providing that I don't go crazy and make a huge leap from my outline, this chapter will mark the halfway point. A huge thank to those of you that are hanging in there with me and still reading.

I didn't get to answer reviews for the last chapter. For that, I apologize. I think that's the first time since I started writing that I haven't answered all the reviews for a chapter. I promise responses this time (and teasers if it doesn't take me two months to write the chapter). :)


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